trajectories
by sunspots and raindrops
Summary: fate has a funny way of bringing you right back where you're supposed to be. — [SasuSaku 3-shot; spoilers for the end of the regular series as well as the gaiden.]
1. necrotic

necrotic

 _if you pretend things aren't real, it doesn't mean they aren't._

His face is mask of calm as he walks into the bathroom of some nameless hotel room – he's not exactly rushing, just in a hurry to get away from his teammates and the public eye – because he's the destruction right behind an overcast, crackling sky – the pulse of raw energy, of tangible frustration, lives in his veins. Inside, he's a mess, like a hurricane over the open sea – trapped by space, with nowhere to go, nothing to desolate. And this – this thunder in his head – is the inevitable result every time he unthinkingly utters a simple, meaningless phrase. Except it's not so meaningless at all. He closes the door behind him, locks it, and letting his eyes slide shut, he sighs as memories surface, unbidden. _Why is it that saying 'thank you' has become the catalyst for a reaction so strong?_ he wonders, except he doesn't have to wonder at all, he _knows_ , knows it down to his bones. And it's at times like this that Sasuke wishes that he could just keep his eyes closed all the time – to deny everything, to block out the images of the disaster he leaves in his wake, the things that seem to scar his retinae far too easily these days. _My eyes,_ he thinks, _are a curse_.

Finally, he opens them and crosses to the sink, turning the tap and splashing his face with water, ice-cold – as cold as he wishes his heart could be. And he's a good actor, as good as his brother, but when he looks in the mirror, he can no longer pretend: his face is raw, open, vulnerable. And he hates, hates, **hates** it.

Later, when there's blood speckled on the cheap linoleum floor and glass tinkling in the sink, he finds that the mirror is too honest – it shows him broken, and he knows it is the truth. He can actually _see_ himself, each fractured piece of his psyche – the innocent boy, the brooding adolescent, the calloused man stuck inside his teenage body. A son, brother, teammate, student; used, abused, pitied, envied – and for once, Sasuke feels **real**.

It all feels a little _too_ real – whoever said the truth hurt was more right than he'd like to admit – and he staunchly denies everything he sees as he cleans up the evidence of his momentary lack of control. He bandages the knuckles of his right hand awkwardly, and then gathers the shards of the mirror, unceremoniously dumping them into the trash. Finally, there is only one piece left, but he cannot bring himself to throw it away. Staring into that sliver of silver, he cannot see his reflection as it is now, only the image of how he appears to those who used to care, to those who still do – he was arrogant but inherently _good_ , he was hard to deal with but unconditionally _loved_.

Defiantly, he crushes in it his still-aching hand – more blood seeps through the gauze, atonement for the sins he knows he will commit. He slips his hand into his pocket and leaves the shards to gather in its corner – to remind him of what he was once was, what some may wish for, and what he is sure he will never be again. The slight weight is heavy and uncomfortable in his mind, but he knows he can't leave them behind – later, after he destroys all he cares for, after he achieves that sense of finality he has been searching for, after he has nothing left to live for, he will let them speed his fall from some towering precipice into an abyss of darkness. But until then, he will keep them, feeling what little is left of his heart blacken and fracture.

He strides out of the bathroom, and he's a man with grim determination, a force to be reckoned with – back to being emotionless, shameless, brutal: everything he never used to be. Sasuke is once more a natural disaster – he is unpredictable and dangerous and not quite rational. But in that cancerous heart of his, he accepts this as who he must be and knows he cannot change anything – he can only hope to ignore what miniscule conscience still clings to his decisions.

 _After all this is over, then we'll be together again_ , he vows silently, _and then maybe, in another world, in another life, just maybe – for you, I could learn how to smile again_.


	2. propitiatory

propitiatory

 _if you get a second chance, make the most of it._

Much to Sasuke's surprise, it didn't take another world or another life, although sometimes it had felt that way. He was _home._ It had taken him far too many years, but he had finally realized that all along, he has been so very lost. Only now, after so much pain and heartbreak, could he admit that without Naruto, without _her_ , he had been nothing more than misguided child, driven by his insecurities. Now, looking back, resentment simmers at allowing others to use him so freely, the feeling almost like shame, though he'd be loath to admit it out loud. But the thing about Sakura is that he never has to. She can sense it; she can feel it without as much as a word.

And that is why his stoicism has never deterred her – she's always seen more than he ever meant her to. As a child, she brashly tried to force her way into his heart over and over, but now, as a woman, she is soft, steady – her eyes conveying her sympathy, her patience, and her love, always love.

At first, he could not bear seeing it – after all he had done, he knew he did not deserve it. He is still plagued by the occasional dreamed memories that leave him in a guilt-stricken cold sweat – standing in the glow of a streetlight, holding her unconscious body above a stone bench; pointedly ignoring her, looking down on his former team with what he hoped would pass for condescension; his hand, crackling with electricity, as he kept desperately telling himself, _This won't kill her, she can heal, she can_ _ **heal**_ ; her umpteenth declaration of her love for him and subjecting her to a cruel genjustu he could barely force himself to inflict; these are just a handful of the the sins he's committed against her, and though this past is something she's forgiven him for, he cannot fathom how. For him, there is no amount of penitence in the world that could make up for what he has done.

But she never makes him question that forgiveness. When he looks at her, truly _looks_ at her, he sees no resentment there, no grudge being held, only _her_ as the woman she has changed into while he wasn't looking: the fierce determination of an Akatsuki-slayer, the willpower of someone who does whatever it takes to save lives, the strength of a girl who has been deeply hurt but chose to grow because of it. And beneath all that, there is always the steadfastness of her feelings for him. They have matured from the saccharine infatuation of a child into the truly unconditional love of a woman, a woman who would have – and has – done whatever she could in order to save him from himself. She has always been a fixer, and he is most definitely broken.

Now, he sees that that is all she has ever wanted for him – for him to be _whole_ again. She has never asked for much _from_ him – only that he be happy, only that he let go of anger and hatred. Sakura is too selfless, he knows – she puts others before herself without a thought for her own pain. And though he knew in the guiltiest corner of his heart that his apology was not enough, watching her tears as she healed him and Naruto he saw that she would pardon him, she would let go. And it was then that he knew he had been blessed with a gift, one that he promised himself he would not take for granted this time around.

In the weeks that followed, she was careful, he saw, and she did not bring up painful topics, did not ask the hard questions. During his stay in the hospital, Sakura made no mention of her desperate attempt to stop him after the battle with Kaguya. There was no pressure from her, but he swore he wasn't imagining the glimmer of hope he sometimes caught in the crease of her eyes or the upward tilt of her lips. Though he knows he has to leave – for without his journey of redemption, he would never feel even close to worthy of being in her life – Sasuke feels older and perhaps a bit wiser, considering carefully the way he will conduct this departure. No secrets this time, no lies.

Standing at the gate, he listens to Kakashi remind him how lucky he is, and more importantly, not to screw up again. Saying sorry is easier the more he does it, and this seems to appease the new Hokage. But Sakura is silent until after he does so, her lips finally shaping the words he knew would be coming – is he really leaving? They're almost done with his new arm, she tells him, but he knows what it really means – _please stay._ He tells her the truth – that he needs to go, that he can finally _see_ – and hopes that it is enough. When she looks at the ground, the words that come next are painfully familiar – _what if I asked you to take me with you_?

He closes his eyes, takes a deep breath, and says the words he know will hurt her – that his sins have nothing to do with her. Sasuke knows that this time he needs to clean up his own mess, and that he cannot take her, cannot drag her down into the dark with him, but he does not expound on these details. Her reaction is what he expected – disappointment, resignation, so he steps closer, and when Sakura looks up, he does something so foreign and yet familiar, so strange, yet right, hoping she will understand.

Sasuke pledges his love in a smile he hasn't shown anyone in years, in a promise to return, to come home, in gentle fingers on that forehead she hated for so long. She's surprised, and he prays that she will see his sincerity as he quietly repeats the words he told her so long ago… _Thank you._ For what, he does not have to say, because it's the same now as it was then – he is grateful to her for believing in him, for never giving up on him, and most of all, for loving him.

Her uncanny hair flutters in the breeze and jade eyes widen, because finally, _finally_ , he has let her in, he has _wanted_ her to truly see, and Sasuke knows she has grasped what he is unable to say. Turning to leave is much harder this time than it was those long years ago, but she does not try to stop him. She understands the vow he's made, and she has faith in him.

He _will_ come back. He will come back home, to Konoha, he will come back to the dysfunctional family that makes up their team, and most importantly, he will come back to _her._


	3. more than satisfactory

much more than satisfactory

 _if you are entrusted with something valuable, treasure it._

Time passes as it always has – fluid, slipping between his fingers before he realizes it is gone. A month in Earth, two weeks in Wind – the days blur as he crosses back through Rain and into Fire, the deep, verdant forests and familiar dirt roads creating in him a sense of urgency because he is _almost_ , _finally_ home.

He cannot count the number of days it has been since he has been back home, but for him, it feels like far too long. Sasuke would never admit it aloud, but he quickens his pace, imagining the comfort of his home, the warmth of his bed, the love of the woman waiting for him.

It has been five years since he left again, and two since he made Sakura his wife, and he is – for the first time in so long – _happy_. They may be no Naruto and Hinata, all boisterous declarations of love from rooftops and back-bending kisses in the street, but what they have is deep, what they have is true – it's the love of a thousand miles, of sleepless nights, of understanding and trust and forgiveness.

Theirs is a slow love; quiet, steady, hopeful. It is full of silences – the things he most wants to say, to ask, to beg for kept barely under the surface. He knows she will see them, and in her own way, she will always answer, reassure, redeem him. And that, he thinks, is more than enough, because now, after all this time, he allows his silent touches and smoldering gazes to say what he never would have before – he has loved her for a long time, and his absolute determination is that he will do whatever it takes to deserve her.

And for her part, Sakura is just... herself. One day it's her in the bathtub, reassuring him that a snide comment from a cheeky ANBU upstart about being a "traitor's wife" didn't bother her in the slightest and that she had quite cheerfully put the brat in his place with three broken fingers and a deadly smile. Another, it's her in her medic apron, hitting him over the head with an antidote textbook, telling him that Uchiha are emotionally _retarded_ because they feel too deeply and then try to cover it up and really, what do you expect when someone has such strong emotions and yet forces themselves to bottle them up? And sometimes, it's her hands on his face, wiping away tears, and a repeated whisper of _I forgive you, Sasuke_ in the dead of night, when the silent thrashings of his nightmares wake her. All of this, Sasuke knows, he could never earn, and he tries to show the depth of his affection in his own way.

However, when he is away, the letters he can send are infrequent and short, and he has never been one for words, anyway. When he arrives back in the village, Sasuke does not want any unnecessary delays, so he has already written his report, weaving in and out of alleys and rooftops in the moonlight to drop it off at the Hokage tower before hurriedly turning to go home.

That is a powerful word to him now. _Home._ It means so much more than where he lives, he thinks, staring up at the building. It's the smell of Sakura's shampoo lingering in the air, the sound of her yelling when he leaves the toilet seat up, the taste of her lips on his own after they've been apart. Forgoing the door, he leaps up into the window, landing carefully on the balls of his feet. She is sleeping with her back to him, pink locks splayed out behind her, her ribs rising rhythmically with each breath, and he watches for a moment, admitting to himself just how much he has missed this. His eyes trace the Uchiha fan on her spine, feeling a surge of pride because despite all the odds, she is _his_.

Sasuke hops inside to shed his travel cloak, sandals, and shirt, and he is unwinding the cloth from around his head when she stirs, turning over to face him. She is bleary-eyed and still half-asleep, but when the fact that he is _there_ , right in front of her registers, she bolts upright, smiling so hard he is sure her face will split in half right then and there.

"I'm home," he says quietly, and she holds out her arms to him from her spot in the covers. Sasuke is not one for public displays of affection, but here, in the privacy of their own home, he moves into the circle of her arms gratefully, embracing her and burying his face in her disheveled rosy hair. "Welcome back," Sakura whispers into his chest. Tilting her head up, she regards his face intently as if she is searching for a sign that he is okay. He lets her, and when she is seemingly satisfied, she simply notes, "Your hair is longer," as she scoots over to make room for him in the bed.

"So is yours," he replies, finger combing a sleep-induced tangle. Leaning her head into the touch, Sakura sighs and tells him something he already knows – "I missed you." The corner of Sasuke's mouth turns up in half of a smile, and he lies back, pulling at her hand to bring her with him. Rolling over just enough so that he can look at her, his charcoal eyes soften as he gently taps her forehead and admits, "I missed you, too."

She exhales contentedly, snuggling into his side and placing a hand over his heart. He is lucky, he knows, because she has always believed it was there. No matter how broken or black or crushed, she was determined to find it, to heal it, to put it back together. Naruto has been his best friend, the one to bring him back to his senses, but Sakura… she has been the one to truly _save_ him, to rescue him from the crushing guilt of the unspeakable atrocities he's committed. She has been his absolute _salvation_ , even though he never deserved it.

But he is torn from his thoughts when he hears "Sasuke…" in a shaky whisper from his shoulder, and he inclines his neck to find bright jade eyes staring at him intensely. His brow furrows, and he knows that this is enough indicate his thoughts – _what?_ For a moment, she does not say anything else, only sits up and turns to face the window, avoiding his gaze. Following suit, he reaches out to touch her arm, suddenly uneasy as he can see the tears threatening to spill down her cheeks as she clears her throat and tells him, "I have to tell you something."

"Sakura…?" he whispers, her name a question, almost a plea, to tell him everything is okay, because if his happiness were to be snatched away now, he is sure he would never recover. She inhales sharply, and continues, "I wanted to before, but you've been gone for months and I didn't want to tell you by letter…"

Sasuke waits for her to finish, but she doesn't, and his eyes narrow in frustration and anxiety. He moves closer and tilts her chin up to look her in the face. "Sakura," he says; his voice soft but the tone firm. And yet, she does not look at him, her eyes slanted to the side, avoiding his. He drops his hand from her jaw, and notices the suspicious placement of her free hand… over her stomach. She still isn't looking at him, her gaze firmly trained on the floor, even when his eyes narrow and bleed into mismatched circles.

He stays there, afraid to move, afraid to even breathe, more afraid than he has ever been in his life. Because there, under her hand, twined into Sakura's chakra, is _another_ chakra. Its signature is small but strong, and he cannot take his eyes off it, as if it will vanish when he looks away.

Sakura, perhaps unable to take the silence, breaks it clumsily – "What I want to tell you is that I … um…" She trails off as she finally looks at him again, first tracing the uncanny patterns of his irises, then following their path to her stomach, her eyes widening. "You're pregnant," he says matter-of-factly, as if he is a stranger in his own body, still staring.

"Um, Sasuke, I-"

"You're pregnant," he repeats, and it is not a question, for he can see the evidence himself, as clear as day. He tears his gaze away and meets her eyes, doujustu blending back into inky darkness as his mouth sours at the edges, "You are… unhappy about it?"

At this, Sakura comes back to herself, fingers flying to smooth the wrinkles in his forehead. "No, Sasuke, I am not unhappy about it," she shakes her head, as if the suggestion is ludicrous. "I'm so happy," she smiles, her hand cradling his face, and tears gather in her eyes again as she continues, "Sasuke, I am happier than you can imagine, happy for us, and happy for you… We are finally restoring your clan, just like you always wanted."

It is a more emotional moment than Sasuke is prepared to deal with – his wife, his family, his clan, his _baby_. Suddenly, he snaps back to reality and pokes Sakura in the forehead. She glares at him, rubbing the reddened spot, "What was _that_ for?!"

" _Our_ clan," he says pointedly, before leaning his own forehead to rest on hers and gently wrapping her in his embrace. She huffs but lets him, moving to rest her face in the crook of his neck. Sasuke closes his eyes, relishing this moment of peace, of hope, of _promise_. This is what Sakura has given him in so many ways, and he could not be more grateful.

Brushing his nose along her cheekbone, Sasuke brings his lips to hers, the pressure gentle, expressing everything he wishes he could say. But as Sakura responds, he smiles into their kiss – she understands, as usual, the words behind his actions, the ones tattooed on his lips for her – then, now, and always.

 _Thank you._


End file.
